New York, May 24., 1888.
MY FRIENDS: The river of another life has reached the sea.
Again we are in the presence of that eternal peace that we call death.
My life has been rich in friends, but I never had a better or a truer
one than he who lies in silence here. He was as steadfast, as faithful,
as the stars.
Richard H. Whiting was an absolutely honest man. His word was gold--his
promise was fulfillment--and there never has been, there never will be,
on this poor earth, any thing nobler than an honest, loving soul.
This man was as reliable as the attraction of gravitation--he knew
no shadow of turning. He was as generous as autumn, as hospitable as
summer, and as tender as a perfect day in June. He forgot only himself,
and asked favors only for others. He begged for the opportunity to
do good--to stand by a friend, to support a cause, to defend what he
believed to be right.
He was a lover of nature--of the woods, the fields and flowers. He was
a home-builder. He believed in the family and the fireside--in the
sacredness of the hearth.
He was a believer in the religion of deed, and his creed was to do good.
No man has ever slept in death who nearer lived his creed.
I have known him for many years, and have yet to hear a word spoken of
him except in praise.
His life was full of honor, of kindness and of helpful deeds. Besides
all, his soul was free. He feared nothing, except to do wrong. He was
a believer in the gospel of help and hope. He knew how much better, how
much more sacred, a kind act is than any theory the brain has wrought.
The good are the noble. His life filled the lives of others with
sunshine. He has left a legacy of glory to his children. They can
truthfully say that within their veins is right royal blood--the blood
of an honest, generous man, of a steadfast friend, of one who was true
to the very gates of death.
If there be another world, another life beyond the shore of this,--if
the great and good who died upon this orb are there,--then the noblest
and the best, with eager hands, have welcomed him--the equal in honor,
in generosity, of any one that ever passed beyond the veil.
To me this world is growing poor. New friends can never fill the places
of the old.
Farewell! If this is the end, then you have left to us the sacred memory
of a noble life. If this is not the end, there is no world in which you,
my friend, will not be loved and welcomed. Farewell!